


Dream Eater

by Poetry



Category: The Magicians (TV)
Genre: Altered States, Angst and Porn, Dream Sex, Episode: s04e10 All That Hard Glossy Armor, F/F, F/M, Hallucinations, if you fuck your hallucinations is it masturbation?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-03
Updated: 2019-04-03
Packaged: 2020-01-04 09:35:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18340991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poetry/pseuds/Poetry
Summary: It's a long lonely night in the desert, and the lizard hallucinations areright there. Margo might as well fuck them.





	Dream Eater

High on lizard, demonic red power, and a bag full of black sand, Margo drops Josh onto the floor and her mouth onto his cock.

“You –” Josh gasps. “You know this isn’t real, right?”

Margo comes up for breath. “What was that thing that Dumbledore said? Just because it’s in your head doesn’t mean it ain’t real.” She jabs her tongue right behind his balls. “At least it’s getting the taste of the desert’s Foremost Foreskin out of my mouth.”

When she gets that mouthful of Josh’s taste, the hallucination stays, for just a minute, to to caress the back of her neck. Then her brain decides she’s had enough of tenderness, and he’s gone. Replaced by –

“Kady?” Margo says, staggering to her feet. “I did _not_ put in a request for you at my imaginary orgy.”

“Admit it,” Kady says, taking a swaggering step forward. Her top rides up over her low-cut, painted-on jeans, showing a tasty sliver of skin. “You’ve always known I’m more badass than you.” She grabs Margo by the jaw, not gently, and tilts her face up. “It turns you on.”

“I really can’t give myself a break, can I,” Margo says. “Yeah, fine. I admit it. Sometimes when you were shooting off your battle spells like it was nothing, when the rest of us had to tear ourselves apart just to learn the fucking basics, I wanted to reach my hands inside you and _tear you apart._ ” She breaches Kady’s mouth with her tongue, and her pants with her hands, wriggling to get them deeper, _damn_ her skinny jeans – and then it’s grasping warm wet on her tongue and her hands, trapping Kady’s clit between the pads of two fingers while Kady traps her tongue in a cage of her teeth. Margo works her other hand deeper into Kady’s jeans, into Kady, and sucks the sharp, shocky growls right out of her mouth.

When Kady comes inside Margo’s hands and her vacuum-sealed jeans, Margo tries to say, “Ha!” but gets cut off by a hand clamped to her mouth and a bite clamped to her neck. And then Kady’s gone.

Margo takes a minute, holds her hands up to her face and smells Kady’s cunt, fresh and sour. “I appreciate the attention to detail,” she mutters to the lizard, wherever it is.

“Do you always fuck women like that?” says Fen. She’s lying on Margo’s blanket in the tent with her skirts all spread out around her like she’s lying in an enchanted grotto or some shit.

Margo crosses her arms. “Like what?”

Fen smirks. “Like it’s a challenge you mean to win.”

“Honey, I fuck everybody like that.”

“I’d like to think it isn’t always like that.” Fen hides shyly behind the fall of her hair, not in that sad shrinking way Quentin does, but in a coy flirt like the little minx she is. “I mean, I’ve only been with Eliot, and then only twice or thrice, and he wasn’t – you know – but I’d like to try with someone who _is_ , and I don’t want it to be like that. Or at least – only once in a while.”

Margo gets down on her hands and knees and looks Fen in the eye. “How do you want it, then?”

Fen reaches for Margo’s face, eyes huge and blue, and smiles. “Let me show you?”

“I’m not even going to pretend this isn’t already in my spank bank,” Margo says. “King-on-king action. Let’s do it.”

Margo whips off her dreary desert layers – after a couple years of medieval royal outfits she’s a clothing _ninja_ , thank you very much – and watches Fen take off hers. She wonders where her mental image of naked Fen is coming from - Margo wasn’t at the Bare-Titty Lament or whatever it was, but lizard-Fen has a hell of a rack. Maybe the lizard took a highlight reel of all the best tits she’s ever seen and used it to fuel her sex hallucinations. Margo could make a _mint_ selling this lizard at raves.

Fen crawls toward Margo on elbows and knees over a pile of discarded clothing, plants her hands on Margo’s thighs and a kiss on Margo’s mouth, sweet and slick. She smiles and rubs her palms up and down Margo’s thighs. “Open these up for me?”

Margo leans back on her elbows and spreads her legs. Her thighs are sticky with sweat, and a little bruised around the knees from the Foremost’s oh-so-tender attentions last night. Fen licks it up, sweat and bruises and all, like they’re all exciting new flavors she wants to taste. She’d be like this, wouldn’t she, all bright-eyed and eager for a good fuck after her garbage fire of a marriage to Eliot.

And then her mouth is on Margo’s cunt, a wet and sloppy kiss, open-mouthed. Margo’s elbows buckle under her and she falls back to the blanket with a grunt like she’s been punched. It isn’t that it’s award-winning cunnilingus or anything, it’s the delighted little _mmm!_ sounds Fen makes, like she just spotted a new kind of butterfly in the castle garden, or knowing Fen, a knife with a really nice hilt.

Margo buries her hand in Fen’s hair and her clit in Fen’s mouth, nothing too aggressive, just enough to teach Fen the rhythm that gets her there. She gets it quick, flicking her tongue in time. When Margo comes, she forgets it’s not a challenge this time, and clamps her thighs around Fen’s head, crushing her in, conquering. Fen gasps, tilts her face up for air, watches the trembly little aftershocks with a jizz-slick smile, and it’s not like Margo’s nightmares of ruining something genuinely good and beautiful with her bullshit, it’s just – nice. She closes her eyes.

When she opens them, Eliot is sprawled out on the blanket with her, still in his ridiculous glam-rock outfit, legs overlapping with hers. He rolls his head over to face her. “Nice orgy. I’m surprised you didn’t have them all at once.”

Margo smiles at this stupid, beautiful figment of her imagination, because it’s _Eliot_ , and she just can’t help it. “They wouldn’t get along. I think Kady would rather fuck one of Josh’s tomato plants than him.” She reaches out and strokes his cheek. “What, disappointed? You wanna watch me lead a gangbang?”

“Never mind about me,” Eliot says, leaning into her touch. “This is about you, Bambi. What do you want?”

“This,” Margo says, mapping out his familiar cheekbone with her fingers. “You.” Fen may have been a highlight reel, but this is 100% Eliot, the man she knows from the inside out. He doesn’t get to have his own body right now, but Margo does. She earned every detail of this vision, from hours of crimping his hair, correcting the angles of his fingers in his spellwork, wiping the dried-up vomit on his chest after a night gone bad, inspecting him for fucking magical genital warts after that orgy in Ibiza. All this should be Eliot’s right now, not Margo’s. It isn’t fair.

No. It isn’t something so cute and whiny as being just _unfair_. The entire goddamn multiverse is arranged the wrong way, right down to the atoms. And here's Margo, lying alone in a tent in the desert, fucking her sexy lizard hallucinations for comfort. It's pathetic.

“Hey,” Eliot said. “If it gets you through the night…”

Yeah, no shit. Margo’s done a lot worse just to get some goddamn sleep. She reaches into Eliot’s open snakeskin jacket and twists his nipple.

“Ow!” he yelps.

Margo laughs. “I’ve wanted to do that since the minute I saw you in this getup.”

Eliot grins. “Do it again.” She twists his other nipple. He hiccups with the pain, and his smile slowly quiets. “Tell me. What’s going to get you through the night?”

Margo sits up. “Get the tangles out of my hair. All this sand and sweat has done a number on it.”

Eliot kneels behind her, his knees pressing into the small of her back. He shakes her hair out and gently gets to work detangling the ends.

Margo sighs. “I like it when you touch my hair.” She runs a hand up and down her thigh, squeezes her breast. “You mind if I just –”

Eliot chuckles. “Yes, Bambi. You can just.”

She pinches at her nipples, hooks two fingers into herself and grinds down into her palm. Rhythmic pressure on her scalp from Eliot pulling gently at her hair, like so many times back at the cottage. When she wriggles too much, Eliot swats at her shoulder and says, “Hold still.” She does, but only because it’s Eliot. Holds still, touches herself, and doesn’t think about anyone, really. Just herself, her power, the sensations. When she comes, she clamps her thighs so tight her hand aches. She slumps into sleep with Eliot still going at her hair.

When Margo wakes up, the tent is empty. “You know, lizard,” she says, “this is some thin fucking gruel for a girl to live on until shit gets fixed.”

The lizard doesn’t answer, the coward. But when Margo gets up and runs a hand through her hair, there’s not a single knot.


End file.
